Overture
by Peahopeless
Summary: V escorts Evey to her Gallery bedroom, where they exchange a traditional goodnight farewell.  Unfortunately, he finds it more difficult than usual to let go.


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**Disclaimer:** As always, they're not mine and never will be. These characters and places belong to Alan Moore, DC Comics, Wachowski brothers, and Warner Bros.

**Author's Note:** This is one story of many (over 100) that are written in a timeline format. Not all of these stories have been posted on this site yet (some of them -- rated for adults only -- will never be posted to this site), **but all of my stories -- including those not posted here yet -- have been posted on my aol website.** Just click on my username for more information on how to get to my homepage, or do a search on PEAhopeless V for Vendetta Fan Fiction on the internet.

**Special notes:** Note the timing on this. It's about one week after the New Year's Eve of "I'm Still Here". Although I haven't written it yet as of the time of writing "Overture", that night after "I'm Still Here" was actually the first night she ended up laying with him on his chaise lounge. (Remember how she showed up at his chaise lounge later, in "Made to Be Broken"? Well, the night after "I'm Still Here" was the first. And yes, I know, there's always a lot I have to go back and write yet. I do apologize.) Recall the mention in "I'm Still Here" about him having had to take her to her bed a few times over the preceding holiday season. Recall also that in "I'm Not Your Father" was her first night below. Also, there are included references to the conversation in "I'm Still Here." This came from a couple long conversations I had with Wednesday42. Much of the motivations, and the cause/reaction to a flashback Evey has, comes from Wednesday. Also, the use of the word 'overture' is also from something she said. In Wednesday's words: _"The reference to an 'overture' in the story has to do with a phrase I read some time ago: 'a faint overture in the male-female dance'."_

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**Overture**

V was nervous.

Why was he nervous?

He shouldn't be nervous.

This was entirely innocent, was it not? Entirely normal ... simply a man walking his lady back to her door. Escorting her in the time-honoured, gentlemanly tradition. Three nights ago, just before midnight, he'd seen Evey safely to the tube exit near her flat. That was the same thing, wasn't it?

Granted, her 'door' on this particular evening was actually the bedroom she'd been using these last few weeks here in the Gallery. And that fact pleased him for a number of reasons. -- -- Once her work schedule had resumed after the holidays' break, her evenings below had become limited again. It had been a week since the New Year, and he was silently delighted to pass another night knowing that she was safe and sound, here beneath his own roof. ... ... He liked her proximity. He liked it very much -- -- even if he was not the type to shout it out through the surrounding tunnels. ... ... He did enjoy having her near.

And really ... why, now, as the pair strolled casually through the main hallway, should he be feeling such tension over the sight of her bedroom door? A number of times during her holiday break, he'd carried a sleeping Evey right through this very passageway, delivering her with all care and concern to the comfort of her bed. He'd adored those evenings -- -- her determination to remain awake, followed by the slow collapse of her body against his. The whole scenario had charmed him beyond belief.

So why should he be nervous now?

Well the return of the work-a-day world to their schedule had probably jarred them both back to reality ... unraveling the private little cocoon they'd been weaving while the season's festivities distracted the rest of London. Then there were the conversations from a week prior, in which he'd revealed some of the most personal and intimate details a man could harbour. -- -- And to a woman who had not yet even seen his face.

... ... A woman he loved though -- he always reminded himself as the ultimate justification. The ultimate consolation for his embarrassment.

And then there was the simple occasion of that very same night -- her last night spent below. A night both wonderful and stressful, because he had spent it with his lady ... on his chaise lounge. Not one day had gone by, that he hadn't spared a thought to that subject. Not one night had gone by, that he hadn't wondered when such an event might happen again. ... ... Would it be tonight?

It was Evey that finally broke the silence as they walked, bringing up yet another topic he had no easy answer for. -- -- "Darn, I forgot to bring an alarm clock with me." ... Now that the office was back in full swing, her mornings were early again, and it took a bit longer to make it from the Gallery up to the CPD. ... "Did you get one?"

V did own one. Even used it on rare occasions. He was rather well trained to awaken on his own, and he'd been generous in allowing Evey her late mornings while on holiday. Besides, the idea of rapping softly on her door the next morning ... that had a certain appeal to it.

"No," he replied apologetically. "I will certainly have one for your next visit though." ... He paused, mere steps from the door. ... "For now, I could certainly retrieve my own, if you wish."

She looked at him, slightly amused by his level of distraction, and wondering if the missed clock really had been an oversight on his part. Was it possible that the mask's grin had actually appeared wider than usual, those mornings when she'd opened her door to his 'rap, rap, rap,' and a chipper, 'Good morning, my dear'? ... A trick of the light, maybe?

"No, that's fine. If," she drew to a halt, pivoting about their joined hands and stepping playfully closer, "you promise to wake me on time. Seven o'clock?" ... ... She knew he'd be up and about probably long before that, and she knew he'd have no problem luring himself to her door. She just wanted to make sure he knew he was welcome. He'd seemed so distracted these last minutes, just escorting her to her room. ... Awkward. ... And a man as 'welcome' as he was, should never feel awkward.

She jiggled his hand playfully ... warning him, maybe, for what was about to come. Her smile grew, and her other hand took his shoulder for balance. This was the best time of night ... before he'd retreated, whether that meant 'back to the Gallery' or simply 'back to his room'. When each could have that special goodnight kiss.

And for this ... there was no hesitation as he leaned closer. No awkwardness. No resistance, nor even second thought, as he met her for a personal endearment so uniquely theirs. The facade of metal and enamel may have been cold and lifeless, but he always knew the moment it won the touch of her lips. ... How could he not feel it, as her breath hitched, then drifted through to mix with his own? How could he not hear it, in the shy, velvety hum from low in her throat, or see it in the delicate eyelashes that fluttered just beneath the mask? It was the most alluring, most natural siren song of all -- -- the woman he loved, stating with wordless clarity how deeply she returned the emotion.

He could fall into this so easily, were he to allow it. For every kiss blunted by the mask, there was another that the man beneath longed to press fully and truly to her lips. It was a wish so strong it dared to question the impossible ... holding him there just as surely as her grasping fingers did. And despite every barrier between them, each second passed slowly -- with an intense, lovers' privacy. ... ... Barely did he even realize it was ending, before it was too late ... his beloved dropping away.

Her eyes opened, flashing him a glance that might have been considered bashful, had it not ended in that come-hither quirk of her lips. "Til morning?" she whispered. -- -- Insinuation that the kiss could return in only the shortest of hours, if requested.

... ... In the morning?

... ... He looked down to find himself barely able to release her now.

His hands had followed the line of her waist ... sliding possessively around her hips ... his palms squeezing and moulding to the curves of her body in a way he barely recognized as himself -- -- and all barely within his own awareness.

... ... It was the opening strains of the world's oldest, most famous overture. The first advance between man and woman. ... That natural desire, usually kept hidden behind layers of costume and mask. ... ... He wanted to hold her in the way only lovers enjoy, even if his kiss could not be equally forthright.

It caught him off guard, creating a new awkwardness while the dutiful gentleman resurfaced. And it was that gentleman who slid his hands politely away from his lady.

... ... Evey noticed it immediately, rejoicing whenever he found the confidence for such a natural touch (or lacked the awareness to resist, as the case may be). She did hate the inevitable retreat though. ... ... Why? Because even blunted by thick leather and heavy fabric, those touches were the ultimate proof that the miracle of this last year had not ended. That he was here, and that their relationship continued to grow. ... ... Was it so wrong to want that? ... Was it so wrong to want him?

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I shouldn't ... ... ... it's late, and I fear I am becoming too presumptuous."

Her brow furrowed for the briefest moment. It was deja vu, and in a way that made her stomach cringe. ... ... Long ago; equally late at night and equally deep beneath the city; it had been 'can't' rather than 'shouldn't'. He'd held her then too -- in almost exactly this same way -- while eagerly accepting her kiss. ... ... And how he'd longed for more. Resisted even letting her go. -- -- His hands had never lied about that.

... ... Then he'd walked away for a year-and-a-half.

"Nooo," she breathed, quietly dissuading him. "Don't pull away." ... ... The ground he'd lost, she would regain, her arms sliding anxiously around his torso. And when his head dropped to the side, the masked man trying to avoid a conversation that was probably well beyond his traditional level of comfort, she chased him down without compromise. ... ... "Do you remember the first time I ever kissed you?" she prompted gently. "The first time you ever held me like that, down beside those ugly train tracks? ... I've never forgotten it. Or the feel of your hands. ... It's the hardest thing in the world to be that scared, and still feel something that good."

... ... His eyes returned to hers -- she recognized the familiar safety of their weight. And he offered no resistance when her hands began their own caress. Slender fingers stroked across his back, making up for their petite size with a surprisingly firm pressure. -- -- His overture was happily welcomed.

"Evey," he sighed helplessly. "I find myself on terribly unfamiliar ground."

"I know," she nodded; slowly, and in consideration. "But we have time now. ... ... Plenty of time ... to figure out what we're really supposed to be to each other."

... ... And when he leaned closer again, it was by the draw of her words just as much as by the draw of her hands. ... He'd known all along what he hoped she would be, despite what decades past had taught him. Hope has a way of working itself free, no matter how tightly it's bound and buried behind the rest of life. -- -- And Evey herself was loosening its bonds, encouraging him still further. ... ...

"It's ok to want more, V. It's ok to want me." ... ... A smile began on her lips. Relief at having said such words aloud; relief at his silence, because silence meant he was listening; and relief over two sets of gloved fingers, sliding gingerly, and knowingly, around her waist. ... ... "And it's ok to be a little presumptuous."

His head tilted in acknowledgment, then dipped still lower. The agitation from earlier was gone. Even his embarrassment. ... ... If this was truly her outlook, then it was blessings he should be counting, rather than unwitting faux pas and feared offenses against his lady.

"How well you negotiate, love," he cooed, the return of that verbal endearment confirming what his hands were already saying. -- -- He took no current liberties, but there was a newly found ease to it all. A growing confidence that his beloved would not pull away, topped with his own assurance that he wasn't going anywhere either. ... ... "You do calm a foolish man's worries."

"Not foolish," she countered. "Just ... in the past, where they belong. ... Not here. And certainly not now."

... ... Did the mask suddenly grin a little wider? Did it just find a way to imply something new?

"Well then, I believe I have a different request for the 'here and now'," he stated. "A request on your time, if you'll still indulge me."

Her own wry grin took root. -- -- It wasn't difficult to guess what he wanted. Not when his arms were already tightening, his entire body leaning closer. ... ... She stretched toward him, her nose taking one brush of the heavy metal chin while she softly whispered her answer, ... "Anything."

... ... And suddenly he needed to clear his throat, his words newly threatened. His nervous disposition really had been dissipated, only to be replaced by a much headier, much more enjoyable imbalance. ... "I see no need to wait til morning for another kiss, love," he finally coaxed. "I see no need to wait at all."

That's when her lips pressed fast, before the breath of his last word had even cleared the mask. He wouldn't have had to actually ask for this kiss, but how delighted she was to hear it. ... ... And even more delighted by the coil of his arms around her, tightening purposefully. -- -- Oh he was well aware of what he was doing.

And once his hands had fully crisscrossed her back ... fingertips sliding gently but firmly atop so much soft, yielding flesh ... he indulged in yet another sampling of his most willing Evey. -- -- The wrap of his palms around the perfect curve of her sides. The knowing press of his fingers into the most vulnerable dip of her waist. -- -- Actions that would certainly be taken by no one else on this earth. Actions both heightened, and rewarded, by a low, responsive moan from deep within her throat.

Very personal. Very familiar. Very much a man who knew his lady.

... ... And yes ... just a little presumptuous.

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**Author's Note:** This is one story of many (over 100) that are written in a timeline format. Not all of these stories have been posted on this site yet (some of them -- rated for adults only -- will never be posted to this site), **but all of my stories -- including those not posted here yet -- have been posted on my aol website.** Just click on my username for more information on how to get to my homepage, or do a search on PEAhopeless V for Vendetta Fan Fiction on the internet.


End file.
